


all you could think about was tomorrow

by theladyscribe



Series: like a pop fly dropping from space [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:30:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of timestamps for my hockey RPF baseball AU (yeah, yeah, I know). Focuses on Geno and Sid but may feature other players on occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2014 NLCS: Pittsburgh Pirates at Philadelphia Phillies

**Author's Note:**

> These are in order of when they were written, so check chapter titles/notes for where each story falls in the chronology.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though they're deep in the clubhouse, Zhenya swears he can hear the chanting of the crowd already. The variations on "Crosby Sucks" have gotten uglier and more creative as the series has gone on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this AU, the Phillies are in the Central Division and the Braves are in the East.

It's game seven of the NLCS, and the Phillies have home field advantage. Even though they're deep in the clubhouse, Zhenya swears he can hear the chanting of the crowd already. The variations on "Crosby Sucks" have gotten uglier and more creative as the series has gone on.

Zhenya glances around the locker room as he laces up his cleats. Everyone looks pretty haggard. It's been a long, hard season, and they only just made it into the postseason. Taking the first series against the Giants had been good, and taking it in four had been even better, but they haven't won a post-season game in the Bank yet. This is their last chance, and while he'd never say it out loud, Zhenya doesn't know if they can pull it off.

No matter what the outcome tonight, there's a real chance it could get ugly. Giroux's been running his mouth the entire series, and there's enough bad blood carrying over from the game the other night that Zhenya honestly thinks Sid might tell Horny to hit him in his first at-bat. There's no doubt things would escalate from there.

Zhenya checks his laces one last time and sits up. Sid's putting on the last of his gear, looking grim. He catches Zhenya's eye. "You good, G?"

Zhenya stretches and nods. "Best." His statement gets a smile, even if it's stretched a little thin.

"See you outside," Sid says, giving him a little tap with his helmet as he goes.

Zhenya wants to stop him, to reel him in with a good luck kiss, but there are entirely too many eyes in the room for that. He sighs and slaps Sid's ass as he goes, smirking at the little jump in Sid's step when his hand finds its mark.

"Go warm up," he says. "Horny waiting for you." Sid waves dismissively and heads out the door.

Zhenya turns back to his final preparations, standing and testing the tightness of his shoes, making sure his cup and his belt are secure, and checking that his jersey is tucked in. He grabs his hat and glove and heads for the door. They have a game to win.


	2. Summer 2008: Altoona Curve at Lowell Spinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They pull out a win against Lowell, but it doesn't feel like one. Not when they were up 6-1 going into the bottom of the eighth only to have the Spinners tie things up on a series of bobbled plays that started with Geno's error on a pop fly.

They pull out a win against Lowell, but it doesn't feel like one. Not when they were up 6-1 going into the bottom of the eighth only to have the Spinners tie things up on a series of bobbled plays that started with Geno's error on a pop fly. Not with three excruciating extra innings before they stumbled into a game-winning double-play. Not with the way Geno slams his gear around, visibly angry at himself for having a frankly terrible night.

He's still stewing when they get on the bus, most of the team avoiding his eyes. Sid can't really blame them; Geno has a tendency to get mulish and mean when he has bad nights. Sid sits down beside him anyway.

Geno doesn't look at him, choosing instead to stare out the window at the Massachusetts landscape. Sid waits him out, and eventually he says wearily, "What you want?"

"Nothin'," Sid lies.

Geno snorts but turns to look at him, eyes eerily shadowed from the moonlight filtering into the bus. There's a tightness to his shoulders that no amount of time with the trainers could ease tonight. "Played bad tonight, Sid. Couldn't get hits, couldn't catch ball. Stupid."

Sid resists the urge to squeeze Geno's arm; G's a touchy-feely guy, but a night like tonight, it'd only seem patronizing. "We can't all be perfect," he says instead.

Geno snorts. "Oh yes, Sid so perfect he get himself thrown out at first."

"Hey!" Sid squawks. "I was halfway to second!"

"Catchers too slow to get back to first on pop-up," Geno sing-songs, and Sid just rolls his eyes, glad the mood has lifted.


	3. Summer 2011: Pittsburgh Pirates at Arizona Diamondbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geno makes a run for it, trying to stretch his single into a double. He tries to slide in under the tag, but something goes wrong in his knee.

The hardest part about Sid being laid up with the concussion is that Geno can't be home with him. It's mid-season, the All-Star Game has come and gone, and the trade deadline is fast approaching. The Pirates are struggling (it feels like they're always struggling), and the loss of their star catcher to injury has only made things worse. And that's just the superficial issue. It doesn't take into account the fact that Geno is here, pulling on his jersey for the second of a three-game series in Arizona, while Sid is at home, lying in the dark and trying not to think too loudly. Geno won't be able to call him after the game -- it'll be past midnight for Sid and he already texted to say good night, which means it's been a bad day -- and Geno just. He hates this. He hates it so much. He wants to be home, wants to take care of Sid, and he can't.

The game is for _shit_ , and Geno knows he probably should have asked to be benched for the night, but he didn't. He's playing distracted, making sloppy mistakes, and Coach gives him hell for it before he goes up to bat in the sixth. He actually makes contact with the ball this time, a grounder that slips past short and into shallow left field. Geno makes a run for it, trying to stretch his single into a double. He tries to slide in under the tag, but something goes wrong in his knee.

He feels more than hears it pop, and the sensation is rapidly followed by blinding pain. There's someone beside him cursing a blue streak in Spanish and then the trainers are beside him, gingerly poking at his knee as he bites his tongue against a litany of Russian swear-words. It takes three people to get him to his feet. The walk from second back to the clubhouse is interminably long, Geno focused on not putting any weight whatsoever on his right leg.

The next several hours are a blur. They take him to the hospital and run tests -- an X-ray and an MRI -- and by the time they're done it's past midnight in Arizona, he's doped up on pain meds, and they've scheduled him for further testing in Pittsburgh. They've fitted him with a brace and sent him back to the hotel. He'll fly back to Pitt in the morning.

He hopes Sid will be happy to see him at least.


	4. Summer 2007: Hickory Crawdads, on the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey, Hems, did you see the car from Hawaii?"

"That's Hawaii for me," Sid crows. "I win!"

"No, no!" Geno exclaims, loud enough to make Hems in front of them jump. "That's _cheat_. Hawaii is islands, Sid, can't get car here. I _know_."

"Can too," Sid says, not to be cheated out of his win. "They just drove past! Not my fault you didn't see it."

Geno scowls and crosses his arms. "Someone else see? No one else see, I'm not believe."

Sid sighs in annoyance, but he shoves at Hems anyway. "Hey, Hems, did you see the car from Hawaii?"

Hems swats back. "I'm sleeping, shut up."

Sid turns back to Geno. "It was there. I saw it."

Geno shakes his head. "It's not count, no one else see."

Sid tries to stare him down, to get him to cede the win, but if anybody can out-obstinate Sid himself, it's Geno. He doesn't even blink, the fucker.

"Fine," Sid snaps at last. "But next point wins."

Geno grins a little evilly and nods out the window. "Car from Alberta. I'm win."


	5. Winter 2012: Offseason, Bradenton, FL

“Hey, have you seen my...? Oh.”

Sid stops short at the sight of Geno staring dumbly down at the pictures of Sid’s most recent CT scan. The results of the scan were inconclusive – there’s no obvious indicator that he’s still concussed, except for the persistent dizziness and occasional nausea. Until those let up, the doctors won’t clear him to play.

Sid sits down next to Geno on the bed. “It’s okay, you know,” he says quietly, leaning into Geno. “There’s no longterm damage that they can see. Just symptoms.”

Geno presses against him. “What if you don’t come back?” he whispers. “You never catch again. We’re never in lineup together again. It hurts, you know?”

Sid swallows his standard platitudes; he can save those for the media. “Yeah, I know,” he answers sadly. “I don’t – I don’t want it to be like that. But if it is, we’ll get through it, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Sid takes the images from Geno and lays them carefully to the side. He wraps his arms around Geno and presses a kiss to his temple. “We’re team,” he whispers, “and I love you. That won’t change.”

He can feel Geno take a heaving breath as he pulls Sid even closer.


End file.
